Fangirl Down (Big Shots, #1)

*

Bright and early on Tuesday morning, Josephine set down her suitcase on her parents’ front stoop and willed herself to ring the doorbell. She had so much to tell them—and they weren’t going to believe a word of it. Probably not until they saw her on television, broadcasting live from the Texas Open in San Antonio in two days’ time.

It had been one week since Wells Whitaker blew back into her life and possibly changed it forever. Being offered a caddie position on the PGA tour was not something that happened to everyday people. In the golf world, caddying for a professional golfer was like finding a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Golfers made, in scientific terms, a fuck-ton of money. Winning a major tournament, such as the Masters, paid out 2.5 million dollars for first place. Heck, coming in fortieth place earned thirty grand.

Caddies took 10 percent of the cut, in addition to their salaries.

Every night this week, she’d lain in bed well past midnight staring at the ceiling, spinning fantasy scenarios in her head. What if she could actually help Wells get his missing stroke back? What if he finished high in the money a couple of times? Not only would she be able to afford to rebuild the Golden Tee, but she wouldn’t have to beg her endocrinologist for spare medical supplies. She wouldn’t have to choose between groceries and rent money.

This unexpected fork in the road could be life changing.

Or, leaving Palm Beach when she could be finding a realistic solution to her family and personal problems could make things exponentially worse. She was putting her faith in Wells and it could cost her a lot of valuable time and effort.

There must have been part of Josephine that still believed in Wells, though. A piece of her that had never lost hope or counted him out, because staying home felt like a bigger risk than leaving. And man, she wanted him to win again so badly, the possibility was like a chocolate bar with almonds dangling in her face. Eating it could throw her blood sugar out of whack, but indulging in the anticipation tasted so good, she couldn’t help but reach for it.

Her mother opened the door, pink towel in place around her head. “Joey-Roo. What are you doing standing out here?” Evelyn Doyle leaned to one side. “Is that a suitcase? Did you come for a little staycation? I have sugar-free cookies in the pantry.”

She kissed her mother on the cheek. “No, not a staycation.” Josephine picked up the suitcase and followed her mother inside. “But, obviously, I’ll take some cookies.”

“I always keep them on hand!” Evelyn yelled, hustling through the über-Floridian living room toward the kitchen. The entire house was decorated in various shades of yellow and green, indoor plants in abundance, ceiling fans whirring lazily. A moment later, her mother emerged from the kitchen, shaking a white-and-blue box. “Yum yum!”

Josephine snort-laughed and took the box, hesitating to open it. “Is Dad here?”

“He’s in the backyard. Honey!” shouted her mother, pausing to listen. “Honey! Joey is here. Come inside. The man can’t hear a damn thing, I swear.”

“I can hear just fine,” Jim blustered, ambling into the living room while folding the newspaper under his arm. “Hello, honey.”

Cheek kisses were followed by her father gesturing to the suitcase with his folded-up newspaper. “What’s that?”

“I have some news.” Bold understatement. Her parents were golf fans—and knew quite well about her past devotion to Wells Whitaker. They were likely going to faint from shock. “Maybe you should sit before I tell you.”

Evelyn and Jim exchanged a look, plopping down on their plastic-covered couch simultaneously. They were already smiling, because they trusted that whatever she said was going to be positive. They were all fired up and ready to be supportive, just like always.

If only they knew how much she’d let them down.

A notch formed in her throat while she prepared to speak.

She’d let the insurance lapse on the Golden Tee. Hadn’t been taking care of her health, the way she’d promised to do in exchange for some independence.

Now she was betting on a long shot to fix everything. Would it pan out?

Yes. No.

Maybe.

Please. Let this work.

“Some volunteers helped me clean up the shop this week. It’s still waterlogged and damaged, but the ruined inventory has been thrown away and we pumped out the water.” She smiled at her father. “I think there’s a chance we’ll still be able to use Pop Pop’s old register, once it dries out a little bit.”

“That is excellent news, honey.”

“Yes.” She looked down at her suitcase, briefly wondering if she’d hit her head during the hurricane and this was an elaborate coma dream. “It’s going to take some time before we . . . have the money to repair the shop. But once we do, I’m going to meet with a contractor about finally making the additions we’ve been talking about forever. It’s going to be more functional and modern. We’ll have the drive-through window and consultation lounge. The putting green outside. It’s going to be bigger and better than ever. You’ll see. We just have to be patient.”

Her mother blew a raspberry. “Those darn insurance companies. They’ll take your money easy enough, but God forbid you try to get some back.”

“What your mother said.”

“Yes. That’s all very true.” No more stalling. Josephine opened her mouth to continue, but her phone buzzed in the pocket of her jean shorts. “Er . . . hold on. Someone is texting me.”

“Who is it?” Evelyn asked. “Is it the insurance company?”

“They don’t text people, Mom.”

Josephine’s stomach jolted at the name on her screen: Wells.

Wells was texting her.

It hadn’t stopped being weird.

The afternoon she’d taken him downtown for a haircut, they’d exchanged numbers out of necessity. After all, she was going to be working for him. Since then, however, he’d texted only once with her flight information and seven measly words.

Be in San Antonio by Tuesday night.





She’d reread and analyzed that single sentence all week. Did that mean he’d succeeded in reinserting himself into the tour? Because that was not going to be easy. The PGA tour officials took tradition and sportsmanship very seriously. Walking off the course in the middle of a round without consulting anyone, followed by a highly publicized disappearance from the public eye? Not very sporting, indeed.

Josephine tapped on her second text from Wells, hoping it would provide more insight than his last message. Perhaps what she could expect once she reached San Antonio, a tee time for Thursday morning, his overall feelings about the course itself.

Nope.

Wells: Bring a dress.





“A dress?” she muttered.

For what? Certainly not to wear while caddying. All she’d packed was the proper attire for spending four days traipsing around in the hot Texas sun. She’d have to swing home on the way to the airport in order to pack something fancier.

Josephine: Why?





Of course, he didn’t answer. Wells Whitaker didn’t like questions.

Josephine sighed. “While we’re waiting for the repair money, I’m going to be out of town a lot. Traveling.”

“Traveling?” Her mother lost some of the color in her face. “Where?”

Jim patted his wife’s hand. This was going to be hard for Evelyn. Sudden changes to the daily routine of a diabetic meant adjustments up the wazoo. Mainly meal planning, but the change in time zones also meant rearranging her long-acting insulin schedule and preparing for big fluctuations in her blood sugar numbers. Diabetes was a bucking bronco of a condition and it didn’t like change, which made traveling a challenge. While Josephine was growing up, they’d rarely gone anywhere outside of Florida as a result.

“This week, I’ll be in San Antonio. Texas.”

“Oh, I see.” Jim beamed. “She’s going to watch the tournament. Good for you, kiddo.”